If I am wrong in being reactionary; if I am mean in being hectic; if I am at all unreasonable or leave people feeling as though they cannot talk to or deal with me: so it goes. All of these things— my bull-headed snap judgment, et al—it’s all just my temperament. I’m a playful and pragmatic personality besides, and I don’t think my behavior warrants apologies.

I’ve met hundreds of people in my life, and not a single one of them is intact. We are all broken; all carrying our faults on our backs and in our hearts: all of us consumed by the sneaking suspicion that we are terrible disappointments— that the people who say they like us are only saying that.
That we are tolerated at best, mocked at worst.

We are all wrong.
We are all extraordinary.

The quiet small heroism of humanity is something, which is always overlooked in favor of its failures; it’s cruelties. We choose hell every time because we think we deserve it.

- Alasdair Stuart, www.pesudopod.com

1. I miss you.
2. It makes me so sad.
3. I want to punch you in the teeth.

Moods shift in moments. The moon has been enormous lately, closer somehow; pulling at my inner tides and allowing little room for recoil. So sober. So over-anxious. I keep a curtain drawn to let the light in, but there are eyes staring back, wordless and wide, through my windows.

Oh, eyes. What are you waiting for? To find me out, you’ve just got to ask. I am so quick to offer up—to throw at someone—the whole of my emotions, stories, or… it’s so easy to trace every experience of my life through word of mouth or scrap of paper; I’ll tell my days until I’m short of breath or numb of finger.

Oh, eyes. Had you massive maws to match your pupils, would you gnash me up? Would you grind me between your nonexistent creature teeth and spit bits of me out?

SPIT. “I told you so.”
SPIT. “You’re so young yet.”
SPIT. ”You’ll learn. Eventually.”

But what of you, eyes?
Oh, and your eyes. They were so much like the movie that I wanted to turn it off. I saw the same adoration reflected on screen as I’d seen so many times and suddenly I was aware of—was reminded of how fragile us humans are.

The understanding is there, but not the confidence.

Everything is beautiful, but everything is also terrible. My heart knows. Your heart knows. And all I can do is laugh laugh laugh. Things are going to be okay. I’m just waiting for that spring sunshine.

Feed me.

“I feel like I’m barely breathing most of the time but when the oxygen finally hits my lungs I’m grateful to still be alive and eating.” – My Detroit Muse

Oh, friends.
Where are you going?
Oh, friends.
Where have you gone?

Sometimes I know you are there and other times you are not there and sometimes I see you, all steel and scaffolding. But listen: for all the support we’ve fostered, we know—we have known—we’ve prepared ourselves—that the floor could give out any day. The floor was built to give way. And, so? We’ll pace, pace, pace those floorboards. We’ll wear out the spots where we want the wear, tear down the walls until it’s drywall-bare.

You are lions, famished but faithful.
You are lions, unruly and unreliable.

So, you are leaving and I love you but I’ll get along fine without you here with me.
Right?
I hope so. (Yes. Yes. Yes.)
So, you are here and I adore you and I’ll get along fine because you’re here with me.
Right?
I hope so. (Yes. Yes. Yes.)

There’s a light across town,
but I cannot see.
I will:
  I would follow you
      hands grasping
      hearts lunging
                 out
may I rent feet?
           pretty and petite
     to leave and discover
  the harmony
with which to
       content our
            [my]
     expectant eyes.
There’s a light across town,
it was meant for me.
       Give me car keys
          and your smiles
          and my music
          and let’s drive on
          and let’s keep up
          and let’s stay awake:
                 let’s watch the moon accelerate.

Oh, Stability.
You’ve created a forte from which this is all a downhill march; my legs are tired, though, and don’t understand (because I can’t seem to communicate) that relationships are strange anymore. We can’t stop here. Not yet.

I’m okay with the motion, though. It’s nice to move. I smile and I wink and I love. I will continue to do so, too. It’s just so strange meeting that epoch and, after all the love and hardship, moving on with intentions not so much on finding something better, but on finding something different.

You’ll be leaving me soon. You’ll be leaving all of this soon, and somehow that doesn’t make it any better. The commitment is so non-committal and that’s perfect, so perfect. I couldn’t imagine anything more, and I couldn’t hope for anything less. Bordering on that precipice of love and offense we walk along and smile like no one knows we’re nervous about walking and we bleed out the soles of our shoes and cry cry cry for each other’s feet, but the tears never come.

Malnutrition nothing.

The worst part is if you step on my heart, I’ll still love you the way I did when I spotted you across the room.

The best part is if I step on your heart, you’ll still love me the way you did when you spotted me across the room.

Beautiful repetition is the name of the game, folks. Lost in my own dreams of what could be and what already is, suddenly is the reality. We hit the ground running, but in different directions. Farewell, friend.

It’s not a competition. It just couldn’t be.
Don’t act mistreated. I’m doing the best I can.
But my Stability is leaving me and I’m just a bit distant, wouldn’t you know?